JULY, 1904.

Vanity Fair (UK), July 7, 1904

Julys that I remember
 In years, thank goodness, gone
Were rather like December:
 The sun too rarely shone;
And when it wasn’t freezing
 The rain was sure to pour:
But you are mild and pleasing,
 July of nineteen-four.

Last year we’d sit and shiver,
 Or seek an early bed;
The road was like a river,
 The sky resembled lead.
But gaiters and goloshes
 We seem to need no more;
We’ve sold our mackintoshes,
 July of nineteen-four.

You show in many ways your
 Anxiety to please;
The firmament is azure,
 Distinctly warm the breeze.
We’re under obligations
 ’Twere idle to ignore;
My best congratulations,
 July of nineteen-four.